Giotto
by Mitsuye-san
Summary: He hated the blond-haired, orange-eyed, charismatic brat the moment he laid his good eye on him.
1. Chapter 1

**Giotto  
**

He hated the blond-haired, orange-eyed, charismatic brat the moment he laid his good eye on him.

Talbot was old, very much so, and he bet he walked this earth longer than this ant of a town was standing. It wasn't, anyway - standing, he meant, because the walls of the buildings on either side of him were crumbled to the ground, littering their remains across the path, and the roofs caved in and left big gaping holes in their place. Honestly, it was the worst first impression any town in a long while had given him. Dingy, dying, like an injured lamb preyed upon by a wolf's fangs. The place was lost cause.

His sentiment wasn't appreciated.

"I love this town more than anything."

His good eye glanced to the side, spotting a brat staring, almost indignantly, at him with a frown on his face.

"Why are you belittling this town?" The brat asked, stepping closer to him, insistence on his tongue and burning in his eyes. Talbot glanced away, letting out a quiet breath, and stood from his seat on the rubble of an abandoned house on the outskirts of the place.

"I'm not belittling, I'm stating facts," he answered gruffly, turning away. It'd be best if he got out of this miserable place soon if he wanted to have more than a thousand years left in this life. Brats of all shapes and sizes, especially this one here, just weren't his forte. "This town is going under, boy, and there isn't much you can do about it."

Walking away with his cloak swaying at his heels, he wondered where his feet would take him this time. _Anywhere but this place is fine_ , some conscious part of his mind thought, and he had to agree. But, unfortunately, Fate had played her hand, and he was jerked back by a strong grip on cloak, nearly choking him. Whirling around ( _not angrily, because he was too old to get angry, but irritated, maybe even frustrated_ ), he fixed the boy with a cold glare.

What was it with brats these days?

"What do you want?" He yanked his cloak out of the cream-colored hand, noticing with only the slightest of interest that it looked nearly pale contrasting with the black of the cloth. No one touched the cloak, not without his permission, and even then that possibility wasn't even a possibility.

"To show you the beauty of this town."

The brat's calm, orange colored gaze intensified. An inferno blazed behind the thin veil of serenity, determination conquering his features with an iron fist, and Talbot was tempted to take a step back. He didn't, anyway, because while he looked like a twig that could be blown over by the gentlest of breezes, he was firm and strong and had willpower rivaling the healthiest of men in their prime. It would take more than a brat's persistence to make him fall to his knees.

Eyeing the young boy, Talbot's lips pulled back in a reluctant grimace. "Will you leave me be if I follow along?"

"On the condition that you acknowledge this town's merit, yes." At Talbot's visible look of disdain, he smiled. "Despite its less than appealing appearance, this town is beautiful. I'll show you that beauty if you agree to let me."

Talbot clicked his tongue, a sharp sound in the quiet, and leveled the brat with a look that spoke of all his reservations and doubts. "It looks like I don't have much of a choice," he muttered, glancing around the barren area. "Fine, I'll stay for one week more. After that, whether or not you show me the supposed beauty of a dead town like this, I'll leave. No exceptions, got it, b- ?"

"Giotto."

Raising an eyebrow, the only intelligent thing that came out of his mouth was, "What?"

The blond brat offered him a patient smile. Instead, it made Talbot's blood simmer. "Giotto. That's my name. If you will, please use it instead of brat."

Forcing a mechanical nod, stunned speechless, Talbot examined Giotto with a gleam of surprise lurking behind the shadows of his eyes.

How had he known he was going to call him brat?


	2. Chapter 2

**Giotto**

"Out of my way, brats. You're a hundred years too early to be picking a fight with me."

A trio of thugs, grim-faced and scowling down at him, effectively caged him to the wall of a run-down building selling one thing or another. Talbot couldn't bring himself to care about such an insignificant detail, and he couldn't bother with these wet-behind-the-ears _children_ who thought they could mug him with brawn alone. Mug _him_ , of all people!

"I don't like the way you're talking to us, old man," one of the ignorant fools spouted out, fingering the knife in his hands in what was probably an attempt at appearing threatening. Oh, Talbot was all but quivering in his shoes.

He huffed a breath. "Well, I don't appreciate the way you're addressing me either, _brat_." Glaring up at the supposed ringleader - Talbot couldn't tell, not really, not when they all looked like whining, overambitious babies who thought they could intimidate everyone into getting what they wanted - he jabbed a bony finger at him. "You, take you're friends and grow a couple years' worth of brain cells before challenging me again. I don't have time to mess around with kids who don't know their place."

"Fuckin- "

The end of a cane pressed against the thin skin of his neck, sharp enough to pierce but dull enough for it to hurt like hell as it went through, and the ringleader snapped his mouth shut. Talbot, expression as dour as ever, stared through slitted eyes at the thugs. Almost as one, they took a step back, knowing instinctively that this was not a man to be messed with.

"I suggest you run before I skin you alive like the swines you are."

Discouraged and frightened by a strength greater than theirs, the group grimaced and hightailed it out of there, though it didn't stop them from shouting threats they more than likely wouldn't follow through with in the future.

"We'll get you back for this!"

"And next time, we _won't hold back!_ "

Then they were gone, kicking up a trail of dust as they skidded around the corner, sloppily crashing into each other in their haste. Unimpressed by their words, Talbot turned to head back to the small inn he checked into as per his deal with the blond brat Giotto - only to find said brat right there, conjured out of absolute _nowhere_ , smiling that aggravating smile that made Talbot want to rip it off.

He didn't jump or show any sign of shock despite his surprise, but he allowed one corner of his lips to pull down. According to Giotto, he said he wouldn't come and drag him around this ghost town until an hour before noon, and seeing him here - at seven sharp, mind you - was curiousing and bewildering. The kid was unexpected in some ways, but Talbot had naturally low standards for the future generation so it was understandable that there would be one or two exempted from this outlook. Still, a brat was a brat no matter how aberrant.

"Hello, Talbot," Giotto greeted with all the pleasantness of an opossum's carcass. At least to Talbot's old ears, anyway.

Squinting his eyes, he regarded the blond with thinly veiled distaste. "What are you doing here?"

"I was passing by." He turned up his smile a couple thousand watts, blinding Talbot from everything but the truth. Before Talbot could accuse him of _following_ him, because like _hell_ is he going to leave _stalking_ alone, Giotto bulldozed on. "What did you do to that group, the one that ran? They've been terrorizing the town for some time now, and my friends and I have been trying to put a stop to them. Unfortunately, they're harder to catch than they look."

Talbot's expression didn't change. That group? Difficult to catch? He examined what little he could of the blond's features, looking for tells, for half-truths, for lies. An easy, amateur band of stumbling infants - _difficult_? Had he overestimated Giotto when he saw that flare of orange fire in his determined eyes? If so, he was severely disappointed in his own abilities to judge a person's character.

Giotto's eyes smiled at him, knowing and ridiculously taunting like he could hear all the thoughts running through his mind. How irritating, this brat, with his too-big head and all-knowing eyes.

Talbot looked up - because even though he's powerful and wise, the years haven't done him good - and scoffed. He disregarded the comment Giotto made. If anything, Talbot trusted himself and his abilities, so he'd play along with whatever farce the blond was pulling so long as he got to leave sooner than later.

"I didn't do a thing."

"Really?"

"Certainly."


	3. Chapter 3

**Giotto**

Talbot sat in the corner of the room, chewing with slow disinterest as he observed the different people in the bar. There weren't many, that much was certain, and it wouldn't be until half a day later until the empty seats were occupied and desolate tables filled in with empty glasses and bottles. For now, an hour before Giotto would come to take him through the town, with someplace quiet and relatively tolerable, Talbot could unwind his taut wires.

Low lit and quiet, Talbot tuned out the murmurings of the other occupants and leaned his head back against the wall, breathing in the lingering smoke from yesterday. Outside, the clouds gathered and festered and blocked their eyes from the sky. The light bled out of the world, and the grass and buildings and signs and people become muted in color. In this greyed out moment, nothing moved. A picture of perfect tranquility.

" _Hey_!"

Talbot breathed out.

" _\- the hell do you mean,_ you're not serving me _?_ "

A wave of murmurs washed over the bar, from outside and inside, and Talbot listened with half an ear to what he could pick out. Honestly, the people in this town loved to cause trouble. It was just one thing after another, every hour, over the absurdest of things.

" _-rry, sir, but I need you to lea-"_

 _"Like hell I am! I_ paid _for this shitty service!_ "

There was a shout, a collection of gasps, and the sharp crack of something shattering that made Talbot's eyes snap open in irritation. He needed to leave this place; Giotto, that brat, probably had some screws loose in his head - or outright lost them altogether - if he thought this place was _beautiful_ , of all things. Exhaling, he stood, chair scraping across the wooden floor, and marched out of the bar without a care for the spectacle outside. Whatever it was, Talbot had no part in it.

He was met with a ridiculously buff man right in his face, another, scrawnier man lying awkwardly amongst the broken, jagged wood of a broken barrel to his right, and a crowd of people who simultaneously turned their eyes to him. Fearless, Talbot stared up at the man, who lacked the common courtesy to _look_ back and glared at him instead. He was dressed in needlessly fine clothes that spoke of discipline and responsibility - a conjecture, not a fact, Talbot thought, especially after seeing the stormy rage flashing across angered eyes like lightning. There was no poise, no sophistication, in this being to back up his appearance.

Glancing back from the injured man to the one standing before him, Talbot assessed the situation with his aged eyes. Then, deeming the oversized infant as no threat, he tapped his cane on the ground with all the purpose of a king.

"Don't block the exit with your troublesome tantrum, kid," he said, side-stepping out of the way, "and don't glare at me. No one likes a man who hasn't learned common courtesy."

The man bristled at his jibe, baring his teeth like a rabid dog, and fully turned towards him. Talbot grimaced when he came too close. "The fuck are you to tell me what to do?"

"You're _elder_ ," Talbot shot back. Honestly, were manners even a thing anymore? What about discipline? Or simple understanding of social hierarchy? He adjusted his grip on his cane, ready to defend and defeat if necessary. Big-headed babies like this one needed a little force, a little threat, before they could understand.

They locked eyes, a challenge held clear between them, and the man pulled back his arm, ready to hit, ready to knock the living daylights out of Talbot, and-

Blond hair and orange eyes and pale skin materialized from nowhere. Giotto, in all his sunny grace, stepped between the two, lips pulled down in a frown as he regarded the older man. No attack came. Whispers broke out from the crowd, eyes shifted to the young blond peacemaker.

"Giotto..."

"-to's here, we don't have to worry. "

"He'll take care of this."

Sparking a sliver of curiosity, Talbot refrained from interfering and let the stare down continue. This was an opportunity to assess Giotto, and to either have these relieved, confident whispers - this unwavering faith - confirmed or refuted, if not his own judgement of the blond.

"Please don't fight here," Giotto spoke, voice calm and not at all afraid of the bigger, stronger man.

Said man lowered his fist, face twisting into a livid sneer, and he all but snarled, "Why should I listen to a rat like you? If you spout anymore of that pathetic shit from earlier, I'll punch your face in. Now, move aside so I can give that old man what he deserves!"

So they encountered each other before, Talbot noted, watching the exchange. In the back of his mind, he had an inkling of what _pathetic shit_ the man was talking about, and he couldn't help but exhale a deep sigh. It looked like he wasn't Giotto's first attempt at persuasion.

"I won't allow you to hurt him." Giotto's stance changed as his shoulders tensed and squared. His feet planted themselves into the ground, unmoving, stubborn, in the face of a greater evil.

At his defensive stance, Talbot felt the urge to grab the brat by his collar and shuck him into the crowd. Over complicating matters, that's all this brat did. Talbot could handle this buffoon easier than a request for a simple kitchen knife, and here he was, being needlessly protected - hah! Protected! - by a melodramatic child who desperately needed a wake-up call.

Well, Talbot had always been blunt...

"Now, children," Talbot spoke up, gathering both of their attention. He narrowed his eyes at Giotto in particular. "I may be old - " Here, he shot a glare up at the pompous brat. " - but I'm not incapable of fighting or crippled." He looked at Giotto this time. "So, by all means, try to _punch my face in_ , as you so eloquently put it. I'll make sure I beat some respect into you, boy, because you're nothing but an ignorant brat flaunting power you don't have, and these kinds of lessons... Well, they're better late than never, as the saying goes."

"Try me, old man! Let's see how many steps you can take before you fall over like the dead man you a- !"

"Talbot," Giotto murmured, just loud enough for him to hear, "you don't need to fight."

"What I don't need, _brat_ , is someone to protect me. I'm perfectly capable of defending myself, thank you very much."

" -ake sure to put you in your pla- "

"You're old, Talbot - "

" _Wise_."

" - and that's exactly why you don't need to fight anymore. You've fought your battles already, let me fight mine." He glanced over his shoulder, eyes smiling at Talbot. "Besides, I swore to protect this town and everything in it. Right now, that includes you, Talbot."

"No need to protect those that don't need it."

" -ey, _listen_ to me, da- "

"Perhaps there's no need, but I do _want_ to."

"Hey!"

"Tch. Then do what you want, brat. Just know that I won't step in if you're in trouble."

"I'm _right here_! How the hell can you not _hear me_?"

Giotto smiled. "Thank you, but I won't need it."

"Cheeky brat."

" _Hey_!"

They turned their eyes to the man. He visibly seethed in rage. "I don't give a damn about what you're talking about," he growled, "but no one _ignores_ me when I'm talking to them. I'll show you two what happens when you don't listen like the dogs you are!"

"How hypocritical," Talbot drawled.

Giotto's smile thinned out as he brought his hands up, clenched into fists ready to defend, not attack. His orange eyes burned as calm as a flame, unafraid.

When the first attack was thrown, the winner had already been decided.


	4. Chapter 4

**Giotto**

Talbot frowned as he walked through blocks of rubble. When Giotto had said beauty, he had thought of some secret paradise where flowers were growing and sun was bright and birds chirped. He expected somewhere peaceful, full of nature, and ridiculous in its tranquility.

So, he was understandably surprised when Giotto dragged him to the dirty, more run-down part of the town.

The few people they passed sat outside on crates or small stools or on the ground, others stayed inside their broken houses, peering out at them both as they passed. The farther they went, the worse the conditions became, and Talbot started seeing more and more people out on the sides of the streets. Unlike the ones from earlier, the cautious ones who hid away from the day, these people wore pleasant, if weary, smiles on their lips as they greeted Giotto with familiarity.

Disinterested with Giotto's acquaintances, Talbot stamped on his darkest _don't mess with me_ look and followed a few steps behind to ensure that Giotto wouldn't pull him into unwanted conversation. He still tried regardless, pointing out Talbot with a grin and a chuckle, but everyone shied away at the outright intimidation oozing from his pores.

"Try talking to them more, Talbot," Giotto said when a middle-aged woman went on her merry way after handing Giotto a loaf of bread, and then an extra upon seeing Talbot. He refused it, but Giotto all but forced it into his hands with unnecessary concern. "They're kind people. You'll no doubt like them if you give them a chance."

Talbot's hand, the one wrapped around the small loaf of bread, felt awkward as the fresh heat of baked bread permeated his skin. "There's no need. I'll be leaving in a week's time."

"So you say," Giotto sighed. He turned and continued on, eyes bright as he scanned his surroundings, his bread still uneaten. "However, that's under the condition that you acknowledge this town, and I," orange eyes glanced back at him. " _I_ will be the judge of that, Talbot."

Talbot looked almost indifferent, a bit angered, but most of all unimpressed. Whatever the blond brat said, no matter how conclusive he sounded when he said it, like he'd go through with it, Talbot knew he wouldn't stop him. No, not wouldn't stop him, but wouldn't _be able to_.

He grumbled under his breath. "I suppose you are."

The conversation died there, and Giotto went back to pleasant smiles and familiar kindness as more people - mostly kids this time - swarmed around him. They tugged at his clothes, skipped beside him as they chattered incessantly, climbed up to his shoulders and circled their arms around his neck, laughing, smiling, oblivious angels drawn towards the only light in this godforsaken town. Whenever one of the more curious of the group glanced back at Talbot, he glared in return, killing all the endeavors Giotto tried to encourage.

Still, Giotto refused to yield and continued gesturing towards Talbot whenever someone new flocked towards him. With every person, there seemed to be a few who took Giotto's suggestion and came up to the old man, hesitant, a little wary, but who had enough belief in Giotto to put their trust into his words. Talbot settled for a tactic less overt than glaring at every breathing human when the first trickle of people started gravitating to him, and his dour expression arose once again as his mask of complete and utter boredom and indifference to the world around him. He was not polite, nor was he disrespectful, but closer to informal at best. These people, he decided, were good people no matter how much he could care less.

"Where are you from, Talbot?" The people didn't know any other name to call him by and settled for the one Giotto gave them when he introduced his sullen companion.

"I don't remember. It was too long ago."

"Oh?"

"There's no point in remembering. The people there are all dead."

There was a a sharp silence, thick and heavy to everyone but Talbot.

"Oh! I- I'm sorry to hear that."

Talbot just grunted, already accustomed to this level of questioning and the subsequent tension his lackluster answers brought forth. The small group of people shifted, uncomfortable, and glanced to each other in a desperate attempt to alleviate the silence.

"Talbot! What do you do for a living?" One harried man shouted into his ear. Not on purpose, Talbot knew, but it didn't mean it didn't irritate him any less than if it was.

He side-stepped away, bringing out a glare to keep them at a distance. "I'm a metalsmith."

And for reasons beyond his immediate comprehension, dozens of pairs of eyes lit up like Christmas come early.

A while later, with Giotto snickering somewhere behind him and various metalwork laid out before him, Talbot knew he should have just scared them all away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Giotto**

A jovial tune danced into his workroom, high keys skipping about to the beat of the bass. They twirled around and moved as a group, coordinated, light and graceful with each step. A smile worked up on everyone's lips at the piano's music, a familiar sound in this part of town that helped brighten their spirits.

Unfortunately, Talbot was not everyone.

"If that noise doesn't stop, I'm cancelling all your orders." He shot everyone an evil eye, daring them to cry out in retaliation, and was satisfied when they sealed their lips shut. The irritation built up again when having their mouths shut rendered them incapable of moving. None of them had gone to stop the racket. "When I say all," Talbot grounded out, voice toeing the line between some semblance of politeness and insufferable frustration, "I do mean _all of them_."

In less than a second, they threw the door open and stampeded out in the same direction, leaving silence in Talbot's wake. A silence broken only by hammer on metal, a silence that lasted for about all of ten seconds.

"What's wrong with it?"

Talbot trained his eyes on a peculiar crack down the blade, a simple thing meant for decoration, and frowned. The tune, faint in his ears, played underneath his passing thoughts. "Some idiot may have put too much pressure on it. These things aren't anything like real blades, they're weaker, more fragile, and less balanced. Anything from crushing it to stepping on it incorrectly could've done this."

There was a hum, low and curious, as Talbot bounced the blade in his hand and experimentally flicked his wrist. Small bits of metal flew off. Talbot grimaced and set it aside, gathering the metallic debris into a pile to the side. "I'm not messing with that. Give me a real weapon and fine, I wouldn't mind wasting the better half of the next week trying to fix it, but that horrendous mess isn't going to cut it." He picked up the next item, a small, chipped ring, and sighed.

"What's wrong with that one?"

"It's a ring," Talbot scowled. He turned it around between his fingers, watching as the light flickered off of it, how the unnatural edge where it broke stuck out like a sore thumb, the bland color of the jewel that decorated it. "What kind of brat goes around breaking a _ring_?"

There was a shuffle of clothes, of items being moved, of wood creaking under weight. "It's possible."

Talbot scoffed. He set the ring down on the low table before him and grabbed his cane, twirling it around his fingers with unnecessary flair, igniting the flames at the hammerhead. Striking it, he spared nothing but a glance at how the flames coated the chipped edge, having seen this many times in his career, and struck it again. The high rings of metal against metal, unnatural in the silence, drowned out the phantom tune until nothing but that jarring ring vibrated through his very body and deafened him as the ring pieced itself back together.

It sounded like home.

When he stopped, the flames blowing out as easily as a candle's, the ring was perfectly repaired. Talbot picked it up and examined it again, satisfied with the smooth curve of the band.

There was a shift, a breeze, and a pale hand reached out for the ring, plucking it from his weathered fingers. Orange eyes, wide with surprise and amazement, stared at the perfect reparation. "What was that flame?" Giotto asked. "That was what it was, right, a flame? That's what fixed the ring?"

"It's nothing someone like you needs to know about." Talbot snatched back the ring, placing it away from Giotto's curious eyes, and looked at him from the corner of his eyes. "Nothing but trouble will come from it - that I can tell you, brat."

"And if I want to?" Giotto pressed, staring at Talbot's cane.

"Then I wouldn't stop you, but I wouldn't - "

"- help me out, either," Giotto finished. He smiled. "Yes, I know, Talbot. You're surprisingly unhelpful on the best of days."

"Thank you," he drawled, unaffected by Giotto's little comment. He cleaned up his workplace, laying out what was finished from what wasn't - or what he refused to touch. He shot the blond a bland stare. "I hope this - " He waved an arm at his handiwork, at the various items that surrounded them given by the eager townspeople. " - does not become a daily thing, brat, because while I like my job I don't plan on being here any longer than I need to."

Giotto shrugged, a small smile dancing on his lips, and didn't bother to respond. It seemed the people here already warmed up to Talbot's snappish presence. It was a good thing, especially since most were so wary and frightened by the thought of foreigners entering their town nowadays, and having Talbot here, even for a little while, may cure them of those thoughts.

Listening to the familiar piano keys slip into the workroom, Giotto felt the weight on his shoulders lighten.


	6. Chapter 6

**Giotto**

The dull tick of the clock counted the seconds of silence as Talbot stared into pink eyes, dumbfounded. Unwarranted, his eyes drifted to the slightly more red hair framing a peeved face. Then, they went to the absolutely absurd tattoo going from his hairline to under his shirt.

What were kids taking these days?

Talbot never thought himself as a prude - too many deaths, too many battles and sweat and blood and tears for that - but this, this pushed the line. What sane kid would ever dye their hair pink? It was either that or a hair job gone wrong, but Talbot was leaning towards the former.

So completely baffled, Talbot could only say, in the most unimpressed tone he had to offer, "Brat, are you right in the head?"

Giotto covered his mouth and looked away, but the way his eyes curved into twin smiles was telling enough.

"Of course I am!" G, Giotto's best friend, snapped. He was dressed informally, his stance advertised the fact that he'd been in more than a few fights, and had a mouth in need of desperate washing, if the slur of profanities he seemed fond of was anything to go by. Talbot didn't let himself think of why they were friends at all, much less how.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! Do you want me to strangle you, you old geezer?"

Giotto coughed. It came out breathless and a pitch too high.

"I don't need you to tell me anything, brat." Talbot glared at the boy and his ridiculous excuse for red hair. He ignored the tattoo; one problem at a time. "What I need is a bottle of hair dye - preferably black, but brown will do. Hell, blond might even work, too." When G spewed threats, offended at Talbot for being offended by his hair, Talbot wrinkled his nose. "You're mouth's no better."

"Now, you two," Giotto cut in before G could launch himself at Talbot. "I'm glad that you're talking to each other, but that's not why we're here, is it, G?"

Clicking his tongue, G backed down and glared at some point over Talbot's shoulder. He raised a hand littered with multiple rings with his fingers curled inward. Talbot could see, with his trained eyes, an oddball ring that held potential. He frowned and moved closer, examining.

And then the ring lit up with red flames.

He glared at Giotto. "I said I wouldn't help, brat."

"I didn't know who else to ask."

"Then don't mess with them. They're not dangerous so long as you keep them dormant," Talbot reasoned. He pointed his cane at the lit ring. "If you don't do anything, that's nothing but a potential reading, a personality test, a convenient flame when it's dark. If you tap into it without the right supervision and teachings, it'll be a weapon. A dangerous one. So do the world a favor and forget about it, brat, there are more important things to do with your life than messing with flames. You'll only get burned in the end."

"A weapon?" The redhead brat asked, brows drawing together in thought. He stared at the flickering, erratic red flame.

"Yes," Talbot confirmed. He turned away, about to get on with his day, when a hand caught him by the shoulder. His jaw clenched. "What?"

G stared at him, emotions in conflict. He didn't like this old man, not when he showed up out of nowhere. Even Giotto's repeated assurances did nothing to alleviate his concerns. He was still wary - all of them were, really. People from outside were bad, they were demons. Just like the ones who terrorized them now, day in day out.

But Talbot had power. He had knowledge and strength and the means to teach. G could learn to control these flames, make them into a weapon. A weapon that could help him protect this town.

"Teach me."

Talbot scoffed. "No."

Fingers dug deeper into his shoulder. "Teach me."

Glaring at him out of the corner of his eyes, Talbot gritted out, "Get your hand off of me."

"Not until you agree to tea- "

The words died in his throat. Pressed against his neck, the sharp end of Talbot's cane dug into his skin just enough to refrain from drawing blood. He sucked in a fortifying breath, caught off guard. He hadn't even noticed. Glancing over at Giotto, he saw that the blond wasn't going to make a move.

Talbot looked at him, bland and apathetic, like he couldn't care less if he took his life, and G felt the first buds of fear - terror - sprout like weeds. "I'll say it once more," Talbot intoned, looking nothing like the old, bad-tempered man G thought he was. Now, with his eyes dark and expression shadowed, he looked like a fighter. A killer. "Find someone else. I refuse to teach brats like you."

Swiveling around with a flair of his cloak, Talbot left the two without another word. G took an unsteady step back, staring at Talbot as he strode further and further away, and looked at Giotto, about to say something when he sealed his lips shut at the bright, genuine smile on his lips.

"So?" He motioned towards Talbot's tiny shadow of a figure. "Would you like him as a teacher?"

G's lips twisted into a disgruntled scowl. "No, not anymore."

Giotto only laughed.


End file.
